An Officer and Some Gentlemen
by Y St. Ace
Summary: Chapter 13 and 14 up  Where everyone learns Important Life Lessons
1. Default Chapter

I don't own these characters, One Piece, or any of the great stuff that Oda Eiichiro comes up with. But the way the words go together – that is all mine.

I admit that our dear Akuma no Mi eating Captain usually has it more together than this, but considering the subject matter, I think this is an accurate portrayal of his level of information and lack thereof.

This was inspired after a marathon session of 'North and South' and A&Es 'Pride and Prejudice' and topped off with a viewing of 'Miss Congeniality.' But it was written down because torturing Smoker is way too much fun. And then somehow it got a plot and chapters. I didn't mean for that to happen, but what can you do?

I am telling you now that this is hardest thing I have ever written. Give me a good angsty, dark piece and I'm in my element, but ask me to write Smoker in character in a humor fic…

Chapter 1 – Invitation to Battle

Smoker reclined in his chair, staring at the ceiling and firmly ignoring the offending sheets of paper lying on his desk. He desired nothing more than to pick them up and, using the ends of his cigars, light them afire.

Once upon a time, a Marine was a Marine. He sailed the seas, kicking the crap out of anything stupid enough to cross his path. Then Headquarters decided that that was 'vigilantism' and begin imposing a hierarchy and rules and expecting 'certain conduct of its officers.'

Wimps.

He exhaled and contributed to the health hazard that was his office.

"Sir, you called for me?" Tashigi made it in the door without tripping over the threshold or herself.

"We're making a detour," he said, sour notes creeping into his voice. He gestured listlessly at his desk. "Orders."

Tashigi hid her surprise as she took up the papers. When did Smoker ever care about orders? They'd left Loguetown without orders. They were following the Straw Hat pirates without orders. Smoker didn't even really dress following regulation. So why was he bothered with these? He usually used the other orders he'd received as …

As she read the opening lines of the first letter, she realized that things may have finally caught up with him.

Captain Smoker,

While we applaud your exemplary career thus far, we at Headquarters are concerned with the lack of warning you gave us when leaving your post at Loguetown. While it is true that a Marine's first duty is to justice, and certainly pirates should not be allowed to escape in such a bold way, it is necessary to leave at least one man behind at a Marine post. Due to your rash behavior, we were forced to take Marines from other missions in the area in order to form a barracks at Loguetown so that the town would not fall into lawlessness again.

Consequently, we are strongly urging you to represent the Marines at the following event. The island is on your current course and it will not delay you more than one night. We do not feel it is necessary to detail what may occur if you were to happen to miss this engagement, because we know that an upstanding Marine such as yourself would never shirk his duty.

Please give my regards to Lord Fop.

Sincerely,

Major Brandnew

Tashigi picked up the other document, the invitation. The looping silver script was printed on weighty cream vellum paper. She read the first line and blanched. "Have you begun preparations, sir?"

"What are you talking about?" You can't prepare for hell, Smoker thought dourly. He should know – he'd had to take classes for it three times. A grasp of good etiquette and decorum was considered a necessary part of being an upper level Marine – and most officers, Hina for instance, breezed right through Officer's Conduct Training.

But Smoker wasn't most officers. He'd grown up in the city that spawned the Pirate King. In Loguetown, manners got you a pat on the head and a knife in the back.

He'd done his best to get his instructors understand.

Salad fork, main entrée fork; any fork was fine to stick in a man's eyeball as Smoker had demonstrated to his first instructor utilizing a marker and a small melon.

And dancing? Marines Don't Dance – that was an immutable law of the universe. Maybe a marine could tap his foot if he was really enjoying himself, but that was as crazy as it should get. A marine sure as hell should never be caught _waltzing_. It was a point he'd driven home with this second instructor – with his boot.

Smoker ground the end of his cigar between his teeth as he mulled over the final outrage. Who cared whether this color wine went with that piece of meat; a piece of meat that was covered in a sauce that no one but an expert in forensics could identify? After they'd gotten gotten the gravy boat off his head, his third instructor had heartily agreed.

Smoker had explained to the Commodore that if a Marine was going to parties and hob-nobbing with so called 'gentlemen', then he wasn't doing his job, which was catching pirates. But he had been required to retake the class for a fourth time and had been told that if he didn't pass, he wasn't going to become a captain.

Then he'd eaten the Devil Fruit and suddenly everyone had become more agreeable. He'd passed with the lowest grade possible, but he had passed and he never had to deal with it again.

Or so he had thought.

Tashigi turned to him, her mouth set in a grim line. "Smoker, sir, you may not realize this, but you are in grave danger."


	2. Strategy Session

Chapter 2 - Strategy Session

Smoker sneered. "It's a party where the women have more jewelry than common sense and the men have no chins. They pose danger?"

"This is more than a party, sir." She held up the invitation and regarded it like she would a particularly disgusting but dangerous bug. "This is a cotillion."

"I was wondering how you said that." A line of smoke streamed out of the corner of his mouth. "It's a fancy name for torture. What's your point?"

A flicker of fear passed behind Tashigi's eyes; not fear for herself but for her superior. "It's a coming out party."

Smoker paused then asked, "They have parties for that?"

"It's the easiest way to find matches," she said.

Smoker frowned. He had wondered what Brandnew meant by sending his 'regards' to Lord Fop. "What people do on their personal time is their business, but they shouldn't go around flaunting it, and I sure as heck shouldn't have to be there to witness it."

"'Coming out' in the sense that they are eligible for marriage, sir," Tashigi explained patiently.

"Oh. Well good for them." He stubbed out his cigar and reached for another one. He had just struck a match when something occurred to him. Tashigi watched as his normally stoic expression changed to barely concealed horror. "You don't mean."

"It's a meat market, sir."

Tashigi described the lives of debutantes. There were countless hours taking lessons from etiquette instructors and ballroom dance teachers, perfecting glamour and style and insipidity, but those were just the outer trappings. The gossiping and fan-tapping and giggling hid minds like steel traps that were devoted to one purpose alone - attaining a husband with money or connections. Once ensnared in the charms of a debutante, it was only a matter of time before a man found himself walking down the aisle about to marry a young lady with too many middle names and a closet with four hundred pairs of shoes.

As Tashigi spoke, she realized that all the blood was draining from Smoker's face. When she was finished, the stub of his cigar was dangling out of the corner of his wide-open mouth.

Smoker didn't know what to do! He always knew what to do! She was on the verge of panicking when her boss suddenly growled, "If this is a joke, Tashigi."

Whatever moment of crisis he had was passed. "No joke, sir," she said.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You read the letter from Headquarters. There's no way around it."

"But you can go into it prepared, sir. If I may?" She didn't wait for permission and took up a pen and paper from his desk. She began to scribble notes furiously. "We'll need to make arrangements for your clothing and transportation. We need find out what the menu is and who the other guests are as well and.."

She looked up to see Smoker raising an eyebrow. She felt she should explain. "My mother had Firm Views, sir."

Those Views involved what a girl should and should not do -and a girl should definitely not waste her time at swordplay when there was a world of rich men waiting to be entrapped by feminine wiles. Tashigi had spent a better part of her youth hiding from her ballroom dance instructors and her etiquette teacher.

Strangely enough her mother wondered why Tashigi never came home on leave.

While his subordinate wrote, Smoker considered what he would do to Brandnew the next time they met. Hot pokers would be a good place to start. "Pencil in something for yourself, Tashigi - unless you happened to pack a dress with all those swords."

It was Tashigi's turn to pale. "But, sir - "

"It says 'Captain Smoker and a guest,'" he said pointedly.

Tashigi grasped for an excuse. "But there needs to be someone on the ship - "

"That's an order." Smoker wasn't looking forward to it anymore than she was.

Tashigi let the idea roll around in her head for a moment. "Tactically it's not such a bad idea, is it sir? My appearance will keep them away for awhile. Since they judge people by the size of their bank accounts, once they realize that you don't have any money to speak of, there won't be a problem. What do you think, sir? Sir?"

He wasn't looking at her and Tashigi got prickles on her neck. Of course. Smoker was a captain so he'd be getting an ample paycheck. Room and board was covered since he was living on the ship. The only thing she ever saw him buy were cigars and his three-wheeler that he doted on.

"A guy's got to retire on something," he said.

Tashigi blanched. An officer with pots of money who spent all of his time on long sea voyages away; what society girl on the hunt wouldn't love that?

Captain Smoker was Grade A prime rib about to be lowered into a shark tank.

A Marine called through the door. "If the weather stays fair, we'll be arriving in port in six hours, sir."

Smoker stood up. "Get some coffee, Tashigi. We have a long night ahead of us."


	3. Marshalling Forces

I don't own One Piece, that's Eiichiro Oda, but the way the words go together, that's all mine.

Chapter 3 – Marshalling Forces

The next morning…

Some of the merchants of Runess had been rudely awakened this morning. Their homes were invaded, they were drug out of bed in various stages of undress, then frog-marched through the cobblestone streets of their city and up onto the deck of a Marine battleship. Then the outraged shopkeepers had found themselves flung at the feet of a very stern looking young woman. A few protested their outrageous manhandling, but they shut their mouths upon hearing the four most melodious words in all of the world.

Money. Is. No. Object.

The young woman wanted the biggest, she wanted the best, and she wanted it yesterday. The merchants had left the ship, almost skipping down the gangplank, to grant her every wish.

Tashigi sighed and watched the merchants go. Then she looked over her shoulder at Smoker, who was enjoying a cigar at the rail. "Sir? Are you sure?"

"We have to do Headquarters' proud. That means no expense spared."

Tashigi had a sinking suspicion that Smoker wasn't doing this for the glory of Headquarters. "And we kidnapped innocent businesspersons because…"

"Marines Don't Shop."

Tashigi considered the thought of her and Smoker comparison-shopping for a tux or dress. "Absolutely understood, sir."

But the clock was ticking...

* * *

At a summer manor outside of the port of Runess…

"Chrissiania, is it true?"

Chrissiania, the eldest daughter of Lord Fop, Mayor of Runess, let the delicate china teacup hover at her rosy lips. "Is what, Anna?"

Her friend, the second daughter of the Baron of Brightwith, Miss Annalinalou, raised her well groomed eyebrow. "Just by that look, darling, I know it's true."

"I must not be following you." Chrissiania glanced at her reflection in the polished silver tea set. She looked as exquisite as a china doll. It had only taken her two hours to apply the makeup; that was a new record.

Annalinalou sighed, wanting confirmation more than the upper hand. "Is it true that a Marine _captain_ is attending tonight's cotillion?"

"Hmm, darling, I don't know. Father deals with trivial details like that," Chrissiania answered. "But one of the servants told me that a Marine ship arrived early this morning."

This is what Annalinalou wanted; gossip, fresh and raw. "Really? How interesting," she murmured.

They continued to talk.

* * *

"Where is that intelligence report?" Tashigi cried.

"Here, Sergeant Major!" A Marine sprinted up the gangplank, waving a piece of paper like a flag. Tashigi snatched it from his hand and skimmed it, searching for the detail she needed. "Right. Tailor!"

It was about time, the man thought, as he jumped to his feet. He had been waiting for the woman to make her decision for hours and now he would have only a short time to make her dress. He had his assistants on standby at his shop – but it would be a close thing.

"Show me those colors," she commanded.

He held out his arm, swathed in fabric colors ranging from pink champagne to Merlot. She examined the swatches and found a burgundy satin; from the intelligence report it was the exact same shade of the wine being served tonight. She wasn't taking any chances with spills.

"I want that fabric made into _this_ dress." The dress in the picture was simple – no extraneous decorations to get ripped off, no train to trip over, and no sleeves to end up in the gravy. Tashigi had dubbed it her 'safety' dress.

The tailor gave a simpering smile. "Miss, the fashion - "

"Sergeant Major," she corrected. "And I didn't ask your opinions about the fashions, did I?"

"No, mi-Sergeant Major," he amended hastily. "And will there be anything for the gentleman?"

"Captain," Tashigi said imperiously. "The captain will need a dress shirt and that is all."

"I should just go as I am," Smoker said. "They'd probably send me packing as soon as I stepped in the door."

Tashigi repressed a sigh. Smoker's idea had a logic of sorts; a _man's_ logic though. The two of them, alone, unarmed, were entering a hostile territory where wolves dressed in silk and satin and he wanted to stand out?

"Shirts are usually required at these events, sir," she said diplomatically.

"Ties too?" He hated ties.

"You won't have to wear a tie if you take out your formal uniform, sir," Tashigi suggested. Smoker's face clearly showed what he thought of that idea. "You'd look very dignified, sir."

He hadn't worn it since his promotion ceremony. It was better than wearing a tie, he supposed.

The tailor stepped forward and held up a measuring tape. "If I may, Captain?"

As Smoker endured the indignity of being measured, he once again found himself thinking of what he would do if he got his hands on Brandnew.

* * *

Somewhere else…

The stupidity of people amazed him. Of course, if people weren't stupid, his job would be much more difficult.

His partner had been hired as a maid months again. Her mousy looks and servile demeanor helped gain the trust of her employers. Her quick eyes had marked each worthwhile piece in the mansion and had discarded the trash passed off as antiques. Then she had found out about the annual cotillion, which meant more than one hundred rich victims in one place. It was too good a chance to pass up.

He didn't completely trust his partner though. She was young and that meant incompetent, so he had scouted the situation for himself. Since the Mayor's penchant for fancy weapons was well known, he gained access to the estate by pretending to be a weapons merchant. The lord had little taste, preferring ostentatious jeweled pommels and fancy scabbards to real quality craftsmanship. While the lord had mused over the swords, his 'assistants' had been familiarizing themselves with the layout of the mansion, finding easy points for entry and escape.

Tonight's work would be a piece of cake. The nobles and merchants would be taken by surprise and then relieved of all their cumbersome jewelry, money, and expensive baubles. He, his partner, and their gang would circle through the mountains and return to the ship they had moored on the other side of the island. He had no fear of pursuit; the aristocrats might get their clothes dirty after all.

This assignment would go like clockwork and his boss would be pleased. It would further their goals for the glory of the new utopia…

* * *

Tashigi's hair hung in her face, obscuring her view. She felt the anger rise from her abdomen to her chest and her lips trembled as she spoke.

"I haven't forgotten our last meeting. You made a fool of me then," she said. "But it won't happen this time!"

She raised her eyes and shouted, "I will not be defeated!"

"Tashigi!" Smoker shouted from the hall.

She threw another withering look at her opponent then went to door and opened it a crack. Smoker was scowling at her. "You weren't rehearsing that speech for Roronoa again, were you?"

"No, sir."

"It's time."

"Yes, sir." She shut the door and grabbed the villainous burgundy heels from their box. She shook them once before putting them on and said, "Did you hear me? You aren't going to beat me."

Tashigi stepped out into the small hallway and squinted a bit. Smoker could pass for a Marine Captain from Headquarters; she hardly recognized him.

Smoker was thinking along the same lines. He was used to seeing Tashigi in printed shirts so loud that they would wake the dead. She didn't look like a Marine in a dress and he didn't like it. "That's what you're wearing?"

Tashigi didn't understand what he meant. Did he think it wasn't respectable enough? He'd seen the picture of the dress this morning. Why hadn't he said something then? "I could get a shawl…," she said uncertainly.

"No. We've wasted enough time. Let's go," he said gruffly.

The walk down the gangplank loomed in her mind. "Are they all out there?"

"Who?" Smoker asked impatiently.

Tashigi cringed. "_Them_, sir."

Smoker was already on edge and his junior officer's bashfulness only irritated him more. "Tashigi! Move it!"

He pushed her out the door and onto the deck. She stumbled, caught her balance, and waited for the laughing to begin.

It never did. The rest of the Marines were in formation, respectfully waiting for final orders from their commanding officers.

"Be prepared to set sail as soon as we step onto the deck this evening," Smoker told the sergeant that was being left in charge. The Marine saluted. Smoker headed down the gangplank while Tashigi followed behind him – very carefully.

A carriage, rented from a company in town, was waiting for them. A Marine private had been pulled from duty to be the groomsman, since Smoker didn't trust any of the people of Runess. They were probably all in on this cotillion – trying to trap unsuspecting Marines with debutantes.

Smoker looked at the horses with skepticism. He didn't trust the beasts. "I still think my 'bike would be – "

Tashigi had visions of herself hanging on for dear life as Smoker tested the limits of his favorite toy on the open country roads out of Runess. "It's not appropriate for the occasion, sir," she said quickly.

"Do you know where we're going?" Smoker asked the private.

The Marine nodded and opened the door for Tashigi. "Yes, sir. Pretty far out of town, but easy to find. Is this all I need to do tonight, sir?"

"Occupy yourself however you want, but be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

"They don't let 'servants' into the estate," the Marine said, giving the sergeant major his hand. Tashigi carefully stepped inside. "Guess I'll be stuck in the stables playing cards with the other drivers. Oh well."

"Ten thousand berii if you go in my place," Smoker said suddenly.

"Sir!" Tashigi cried angrily from inside the carriage.

"And I'll promote you to First Lieutenant," the captain offered.

"But, sir, that's impersonating an officer! I could go to –" the Marine stopped protesting and laughed. "Ah, you're a card, sir! 'Trading places'? Who wouldn't want to go to an all you can eat and drink party that requires you to dance with lots of young pretty women?"

"Yeah, who wouldn't." Smoker looked back up at the ship. The men were all lined up along the rail, ready to see their commanding officers off.

"Think it's safe?" someone whispered.

"Wait until he has one foot in the door," the sergeant suggested. They watched their captain and then...

On cue, the Marines erupted into enthusiastic cheers.

"Looking spiffy, sir!"

Someone wolf-whistled. "Hubba hubba, Sergeant Major!"

"Knock 'em dead, Captain Smoker!"

Smoker slammed the door of the carriage shut, deadening the roar coming from his ship.

"I'll knock _them_ dead," he muttered and settled into his seat.

Tashigi looked out the window to hide her smile. That had brightened her day considerably.


	4. Very Small Talk

Chapter 4 – Very Small Talk

Sugar and spice? No. Greed and cunning and ruthlessness; that's what the little girls of Runess were made of. Had a pirate been in the room, he would have recognized the wolfish look that crossed the debutante's face.

Chrisssiania could endure it all, the pinching shoes, the whalebone corset; because she knew that at the end of her silent suffering sat the prize.

Him.

She didn't know who he was – but names were unimportant. So were looks and manners and morals. Solvency and financial security; now those were entirely different stories.

One of the interchangeable maids offered her a choice of necklaces. She chose the polished yellow topaz. It matched her dress and was the biggest, most sparkling stone she owned. Necklaces were important, she reflected. They drew a man's eye to all the right places.

Another maid entered the room and curtsied. "Miss Chrissiania, the guests are arriving."

Chrissiania smiled – but it wasn't for the maid. It was practice for Him. "I'm almost finished."

Busy admiring herself in the mirror and putting on the finishing touches, Chrissiania did not notice one of the interchangeable maids carefully appraising the jewelry she was wearing – or where the other pieces were put in the jewelry box.

"How long is this driveway?" Smoker asked.

Tashigi stuck her head out the window. "I don't see the house yet, sir."

The large shade trees lined the raked gravel path like sentries; closing in, blocking all routes except one. Smoker was reminded of the brig at Marine Headquarters. It was a straight hallway, flanked by cells, leading to the final chamber - the holding cell for the condemned.

…dead man walking…

Smoker ground down on his cigars. He was thinking in metaphors. He'd be quoting dead playwrights and appreciating art next. He couldn't wait for this to get started so it would be over.

* * *

Chrissiania was surrounded by her friends. Well, sometimes they were her friends; right now they were potential rivals, but she had warned them off discretely.

Semidiscretely, she reflected. Perhaps promising to scratch their eyes out was not so discrete. But it had worked. The Marine was hers.

The sound of Annalinalou's fan snapping open was like the first shot fired in a war. The debutantes, all of whom were crowded together at one end of the hall, begin to surreptitiously scope out their quarry. But Chrissiania had bigger fish to fry than the lords and merchants already gathered in the ballroom.

A _very_ well-paid servant brushed by her shoulder and offered her a mint julep. "He's here, miss."

Chrissiania quickly did a pre-meeting eyelash batting. Batting eyelashes was an important part of catching a man. They couldn't resist the helpless look it gave a young woman.

The page stood on the steps and announced, "Captain Smoker of the Marines – "

Chrissiania turned to get her first look at Him.

" – and guest!"

Guest?

* * *

"I feel really…exposed, sir."

"Maybe it's because of your dress..."

"Compared to the other women here, sir, my dress is quite conservative."

"Those other women aren't Marines."

Tashigi stood on the steps and gazed down into the ballroom. Her mother would have loved this. It looked like a lovely party but she'd been dragged to too many of these functions to miss the machinations, the groupings, the plotting, and the strategy sessions.

They were in the middle of a war and they were marked for death.

She caught the look a young woman gave her.

Addendum: _She_ was marked for death.

* * *

Chrissiania made her way over to her father; gliding as gracefully as a cottonmouth snake through a swamp. "Father," she said, her voice breaking bitterly over each syllable, "That better be his spinster sister…"

"There's no need to worry, my dear. This will all be sorted out in a second. Where's your brother?"

"Where else?" She gestured with her fan to the open bar.

"Gather him up then come to the dais."

Lord Fop went to greet the distinguished guest and his unwelcome baggage.

* * *

Neither of them had made a move to join the guests. A good Marine always made an assessment of a potentially volatile situation before committing himself to action.

Tashigi was uncomfortably aware of the dagger stares she was getting from the debutantes. Smoker was uncomfortably aware that he was in a room where all the men appeared to be wearing wigs and pantyhose.

One of the wigged, hosed men broke away from the main crowd and made his way up the stairs to greet them.

The man bowed low, his curly powdered wig sweeping the ground. "I am Lord Fop, host of the Runess Debutante Cotillion."

Smoker remembered what the letter had said. "Major Brandnew gives his regards -"

The lord didn't particularly seem to care about Brandnew. "Sir, it is always a pleasure to have a representative of the Marines here at our galas. And what beauty are you escorting here this evening?" he asked, sweeping Tashigi's hand in his and lightly planting a kiss on her knuckles. "Your wife, sir?"

Smoker almost strangled on his cigar. "No!" he choked out.

"Definitely not!" Tashigi added emphatically. "That would be fraternization."

Lord Fop raised a powdered eyebrow. "She's your sister?"

Smoker regained his composure and answered gruffly. "She's my subordinate. This is Sergeant Major Tashigi."

Tashigi turned red, which could not, in any way, be described as 'blushing becomingly,' but she managed to curtsy without falling over.

"Oh?" Lord Fop said. Tashigi bit her lip. He had said 'oh?' in the same tone one used when talking about a pest infestation.

"Father?" A young lady and man were standing behind the man in the wig.

"There you are, children." Tashigi noticed that Lord Fop faltered over the word as if he wasn't used to acknowledging that he had offspring. "This is my daughter, Chrissiania."

She was a lithesome honey blonde with dark dove eyes and a cupid bow's mouth. Or that's how Chrissiania saw herself.

Smoker saw a skinny kid who had enough paint on her face to be an honorary member of the Clown Buggy Pirates.

Tashigi saw a viper in a dress.

"And this is my son, Merrick."

He was a strapping young brunette with an air of charm and mystery. Or that's how Merrick saw himself.

Smoker and Tashigi both saw a guy who abused hair pomade and was wearing hose.

"Dinner will be served shortly," Lord Fop added. "Please enjoy the hors d'oeuvres until then."

Smoker and Tashigi followed in the wake of the lord and his family. They did this very slowly, since Tashigi was negotiating steps and high heels at the same time.

"Sir, hors d'oeuvres are -."

"I know what they are, Tashigi"

"Humor me, sir."

"They're…tarts."

* * *

Lord Fop kept his diplomatic smile plastered on his face as he quietly snarled at his son. "Get that woman away from the Marine. Any means necessary, Merrick!"

Merrick straightened his tie and smoothed back his oiled hair. He glanced back at the woman in the burgundy dress and sized up his mission. "My pleasure, Father."


	5. The Debutante's Guide to Hunting and Fis...

Chapter 5 – A Debutante's Guide to Hunting and Fishing

"Chrissiania, if you would be so good as to introduce the Captain to a few of our distinguished guests." Lord Fop turned to his son. "And I'm sure that Miss Tashigi – "

"Sergeant Major," Smoker and Tashigi said.

"Sergeant Major, ah, of course" Lord Fop repeated quickly. "I'm sure she would like to meet the other debutantes."

Smoker and Tashigi exchanged glances, but they were already being led in opposite directions.

"We're so glad you came to our little island," Chrissiania said to Smoker as they walked away. She caught the eye of Annalinalou and raised her perfect eyebrow in an unmistakable way.

Annalinalou reluctantly acknowledged the signal. She quite enjoyed tearing another woman to shreds while oozing sweetness and gentility, but there were rich men waiting to be ensnared by feminine wiles. Doing Chrissiania's dirty work wasn't part of her schedule this evening.

"Miss Tashigi, let me introduce you to some of the fine young ladies of our island. This is Miss Annalinalou, Miss Georgettalee, and Miss Petuschia." Got consonants? Tashigi thought as Merrick kept going. He rattled off the names of over a dozen girls, who all nodded or inclined their fans at her.

"Would you like a drink?" He didn't give Tashigi time reply. "I'll let you ladies get acquainted. I'm sure you have much to talk about."

Merrick beat a hasty retreat – he was quite sure that they had nothing in common and was, in fact, counting on it.

* * *

On the far side of the ballroom…

Chrissiania introduced Smoker to the assembled aristocracy, then announced, "I think my father wants me. I'll be right back. Gentlemen, please take good care of the captain."

Smoker had seen some outrageous clothes in his life. Warped pirate logic dictated that in the middle of a battle it was important for everyone to know whose side you were on, or your friends might cut you down. So there were pirates that dressed like clowns, like cats, like dogs, with an emphasis on armor, or tattoos, or put flowers in their hats.

Unless Runess was more interesting than he'd been led to believe, these men had no reason to be dressed like this.

One of the aristocrats nodded politely at him and asked, "When did you arrive, Captain?"

"Early this morning," Smoker replied.

The lord nodded again, too busy composing his next question to have heard the answer to his first. "And how do you find the island of Runess?"

"With an Eternal Pose."

There was a silence until someone realized that he had made a joke. One of them chuckled. Then the rest of the group laughed. "Excellent riposte, Captain."

Maybe later he would tell them the one about the chicken and the road – if he thought they were up to the excitement.

Then someone asked him about the weather. Small talk wasn't difficult, Smoker reflected, but it was about as interesting as nuns' knickers.

A portly gentleman beamed at him. "I must ask you, Captain. Where did you get that wig?"

"_Wig_?" Two cigars landed on the polished wood floor. A servant appeared out of nowhere, quickly swept up the cigars, then disappeared again from sight.

"It's so clipped. Is that a Marine style then?" a brandy-swilling lord asked.

Another aristocrat spoke up. "What powder do you use? Most favor Hanson's All-Purpose, but I find its scent to be too fruity for my tastes."

Smoker's face was impassive as he said very slowly, "It's my real hair. I don't wear powder. And nothing 'fruity' comes near me. Ever."

* * *

Near the kitchens…

Jeffrey, the head serving man, stopped one of the staff.

"The Marine dropped his cigars. Go and offer him replacements."

"What kind?"

Jeffrey looked into the dusting pan. "Loguetown Leaf. And it appears the gentleman didn't drop them - he bit through them. Offer the Captain a whiskey as well."

* * *

In the den of pit vipers…

"What a charming dress," one of the debutantes commented.

"Thank you." Tashigi translated the remark from 'debutante' into 'Marine.' _I wouldn't be caught dead in your clothes._

"It must be a change from those masculine uniforms you wear," Annalinalou observed airily.

You're a woman Marine so therefore you must be butch.

One girl tittered behind her fan. "I'm sure the other Marines don't mind what she wears."

Or loose. Tashigi kept the smile plastered on her face, though she found her hand hovering over where her sword should have been. Where was her drink?

* * *

At the refreshment table…

Chrissiania saw that Merrick was helping one of the servants prepare a drink for the Marine woman.

"Look, man, are you stupid? I don't want her – I mean, the lady doesn't want to be able to taste the alcohol, but there has to be lots in it. Oh hello," he said to his sister.

"The Marine woman?" Chrissiania asked.

"I left her with your friends."

"How long are you going to let her stew?"

"She'll be ready for marinating" – Merrick took the glass from the servant – "in a few moments."

Chrissiania narrowed her eyes. "Is it possible for you to follow Father's instructions without getting the woman intoxicated? Oh, silly me, I'm talking to you."

"Tried and true method, my darling sister." Merrick walked away.

Chrissiania glanced at the grandfather clock. Three more minutes and then she would go back tp the Marine. She had studied at length with the young lady who had ensnared last year's Marine invitee and knew exactly how to get him – the first step was invoking a feeling of gratitude.

* * *

On the far side of the ballroom…

Smoker regained control of himself. He couldn't lose it – not until he'd identified the debutante that was supposed to be after him. That was the main threat at the moment, he couldn't allow himself to be distracted by these …gentlemen.

The lords were laughing loudly again.

"Do you have much chance to hunt, Captain?"

"No," Smoker said. If he kept the answers short, maybe they would leave him alone.

One of the aristocrats chortled. "Sir Godwin, he's a Marine. They work at sea."

"Goodness! Of course! But the fishing must be marvelous."

The stupidity of the man amazed him. Fishing? "Have you ever even _been_ on the Grandline?" Smoker asked.

"Never had the opportunity. My estates keep me occupied," Sir Godwin said, beaming at him. "They're very extensive estates. Have you met my daughter, by the way? Her name is Georgettalee."

"Haven't met," Smoker said shortly. And he'd do everything in his power to make sure they didn't. Georgettalee? What a mouthful, but at least he had a name for the enemy.

The kid who looked like she was playing dress-up in her mother's clothes came back. "Captain? My father would like to have a word with you before dinner begins. I hope you don't mind leaving the – "

"Where is he?" Smoker was already walking away.

Chrissiania followed him, slightly confused and wondering what happened to his gratitude.

Merrick appeared at Tashigi's side and handed her a small glass of punch. "Here you are. I just talked to my father and he wishes to speak to us. If you would be so kind?"

"Certainly." Tashigi smiled stiffly at the debutantes and took his arm.

Merrick was mildly put out. The woman didn't look even close to tears – how was he supposed to be the knight on the white horse if she wasn't emotionally scarred by Chrissiania's friends?

* * *

Somewhere else…

They prepared.


	6. The Martial Clash of Silverware

Chapter 6 – The Martial Clash of Silverware

Lord Fop seethed. His children were failing miserably. Lady Minavolova's second youngest daughter had had last year's Marine sacrifice eating her out of hand by the time dinner started; yet the Captain and his baggage didn't appear to be even slightly frazzled.

Lucky for his offspring, they would have another chance. He'd made sure of it. Lord Fop put on the appropriate contrite expression and began his lament.

"We've had a confusion with the seating arrangements," Lord Fop said apologetically. "Now we weren't expecting you to bring a guest, Captain – "

"It said 'And Guest' on the invitation," Smoker reminded the lord pointedly.

"Yes, of course, Captain Smoker, but that's courtesy. There usually isn't anyone for a Marine to bring." Lord Fop smiled brightly at the baggage. "How lucky for us that you were able to have your charming, young Sergeant Major accompany you. In any case, we didn't consider her when deciding the place settings – "

Of course. Why would they consider me? Tashigi thought.

"- so unfortunately you won't be able to sit together. I have taken the liberty of placing you next to my daughter and the Sergeant Major next to my son since you have already met them."

"Where's that Georgetta sitting?" Smoker asked suddenly.

Lord Fop cursed inside. When had that minx gotten near the captain? "You wish to sit by Miss Georgettalee?"

"No. Definitely not. I'm fine sitting next to your daughter."

"Sir?" Tashigi goggled.

Chrissiania looked at Tashigi, as smug as a cat, as she led her captain away. He wanted to be with the _viper_?

Merrick offered his arm to Tashigi and smiled. "Let me escort you to your seat."

Tashigi was thankful for the arm to lean on. Her world was upside and she needed all the support she could get. Captain Smoker had fallen for the trap set by the aristocrats. Perhaps even now his mind was fogged by the wretched perfume the harpies bathed in. _Oh, sir, what ever happened to justice?_ she thought miserably.

Smoker, completely unaware of the internal suffering of his sergeant major, congratulated himself on his fool-proof plan. They'd only be able to put one debutante near him if the kid was sitting on his other side.

* * *

Dinner…

"Don't you adore Vingaardian wines? The bouquet, the slightly fruitiness, emphasized by the dry aftertaste – exquisite." Merrick swirled his wineglass to better admire the color.

Tashigi nodded politely. _If there is a god in heaven, please strike me down_, she thought. Who cared about wine? Her captain was being brainwashed!

"The whites garner all the attention, but I don't believe anything should be held against the reds. They are superb."

Tashigi forced a smile._ I don't hold anything against the wine, except that it has spawned a conversation so boring that I want to stab myself to death with my shrimp fork._

"They are quite unappreciated these days, but due to the weak berii, I do believe they will overtake the market."

I think silence is unappreciated these days.

"Would you like some more?" Merrick asked, already gesturing for the wine steward.

It's the only way to blunt the dull throb of monotony. "Yes, please."

* * *

At the other end of the dining table…

The enemy had made its move, using the divide and conquer tactic, but it would take more than separating him from Tashigi to throw him into confusion.

Smoker glared at the array of silverware in front of him. The utensils on the other hand…

The girl was prattling on and on. Smoker tried to pay attention but there was something wrong with her eyes and it distracted him from whatever she was babbling about. He tried to ignore it. The other kids probably made fun of her for having a tic. There was no point in making her self-conscious about it.

The man across the table from him laughed loudly and asked, "Captain Smoker, someone told me that you're looking for pirates? Are we in any kind of danger?"

"No," Smoker replied curtly and refrained from adding, _"We're ten miles inland, nitwit."_

"Is your Marine base on an island nearby? You should visit Runess more often if it is," Chrissiania said.

Not for the position of Head Admiral would I come here willingly. "I don't think we'll be in this area again. We're on a mission right now."

Chrissiania got a wolfish look on her face. "Really? On average, how long would you say you're at sea for your missions?"

"Depends. Sometimes a good nine months." He stared at the food in front of him. A fine steak covered in god knows what; it was a crime.

"Excellent – I mean, you must really enjoy the ocean to spend all that time on it."

Smoker was about to reply when a hand reached from behind. He reacted like he was trained to do.

The wine steward's head crashed onto the table. Chrissiania gasped and all conversation in the room halted. Tashigi fought the urge to crawl under the table. It wouldn't be good if Headquarters heard about this…

"Jeffrey!" Lord Fop exclaimed. "Don't sneak up behind the Captain like that!"

Jeffrey suffered in silence while everyone glared at him, indicating that he was the one at fault and not the crazed Marine. His family had waited on the Fop family for generations; he could suffer another indignity in the name of good service.

"More wine, sir?" Jeffrey asked.

Smoker was impressed. The man hadn't dropped the bottle even though he'd been introduced to the table face first.

"Certainly," Smoker said, holding out his glass.

Tashigi cringed when she heard her boss add loudly, "Only this time – fill it to the top. Not halfway like you did the last time."

It was going to be a long evening. And they hadn't even gotten to the dancing yet.


	7. Marines Don't Dance

Chapter 7 – Marines Don't Dance

The plate service from the final course was whisked away. In the corner of a room, three men in tailcoats elicited a noise that brought to Smoker's mind the vision of a cat being tortured with a broken bottle. That wasn't a metaphor. Growing up in Loguetown had given him a broad range of experiences; most of them unwanted.

The cat died and a string quartet struck up a sedate waltz. Slowly men and women left their seats and filled the ballroom floor.

Tashigi heard the music and fought the overwhelming urge to flee to the rented coach. An unofficial code of the Marines was "Leave no one behind" and Smoker was still here.

Merrick offered Tashigi his arm and oozed. "If you would be so kind…"

"No, thank you. I'm not a dancer," Tashigi said firmly as she stood up from the table. She wobbled a bit. Stupid heels, she thought.

Merrick was cheered. The woman was drunk. That would make his work that much easier. "Just one dance – "

"No," she repeated. She looked for Captain Smoker and saw he was still sitting at the table, flanked by the viper. "I need to speak to the captain."

"No!" Merrick grabbed her arm and steered her away. "If you don't want to dance, let me show you around our estate. We have many interesting collections."

Tashigi couldn't regain her balance in her shoes. Merrick pulled her along and all she could do was follow him or fall on her face. She threw one more glance over her shoulder and hoped Smoker would be all right.

* * *

"Sir. Sir."

Lord Fop glanced at Jeffrey. "What is it, man?"

"Nanny would like to inform sir that -"

Lord Fop sighed. "Nothing concerning Nanny qualifies as an emergency, Jeffrey."

"Of course not, sir." Jeffrey bowed low and dismissed himself, since his employer never bothered to do it for him.

Lord Fop returned to a true emergency – the Marine. Even though the quartet had started on the second selection, the captain had made no indication that he was moving from the dinner table. To Lord Fop, in lieu of a better term, Captain Smoker was bunkered in for the evening. His daughter was doing her best to draw him out though.

"Doesn't everyone look so wonderful – dancing?" Chrissiania remarked.

"Yes." Smoker pulled another cigar out of his breast pocket. The Marine coat didn't have enough places for cigars; he was running out.

"I really like to dance. They say I'm one of the best on the island."

"That's nice." Tashigi was nowhere to be seen. This was not good. She was too loyal to abandon him willingly. He wondered what trick they'd –

Of course! Smoker ground his cigars between his teeth. The oily weasel that'd been hanging around Tashigi all night was also missing. It all made sense now. In a huge place like this, no one would notice if they disappeared for an hour or two…

That guy was showing Tashigi the Fop's weapons collection! Smoker had heard one of the aristocrats mention it and no doubt Tashigi had heard as well.

Smoker gave up his sergeant major as a lost cause and prepared to soldier on alone.

"This is the part of the evening that I've looked forward to the most. The dancing that is," Chrissiania said loudly, wondering if the Marine was especially thick or just deaf.

Smoker wished the girl would stop pestering him. What did she want anyway?

Chrissiania threw a despairing look at her father.

Lord Fop cleared his throat. "Perhaps, Captain, you would care to show my daughter a few of the dances you know? She's an apt pupil."

Smoker remained calm. It was too bad that no one was dancing with her because of her tic, but he wasn't going to break a cardinal rule out of pity. The girl ticced at him; a look of desperation on her face.

Come on! Chrissiania thought as she batted her eyelashes furiously.

Still…she was just a kid. Slightly to the left and behind him, he heard clinking glasses on a tray and had an idea.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "Why not?"

Smoker stood up quickly and turned. The serving man walked straight into him; his tray full of half-empty glasses spilling everywhere. Wine poured over Smoker's shirt, staining it red.

"Jeffrey! You oaf!" Lord Fop cried. "Captain Smoker, I must apologize for his incompetence!"

"It's nothing. Just point me towards the bathroom."

The outraged lord threw evil glares at his serving man. "I'll have someone show you the way, Captain."

Jeffrey picked up the fragile glasses, which had been saved from shattering by the thick carpeting. Chrissiania hissed some threat in his ears, but he'd heard worse before. It was all in the name of good service.

As Smoker followed a servant to the men's room, he tried to figure out a way to pay back Jeffrey. Maybe the man liked cigars.

* * *

"And _this_ is a portrait of the sixth lord of Runess' who was well-known for – "

Tashigi had never been with a more boring man in her life. She would have run away screaming if she could trust her feet. As it was, she had to hang onto Merrick's arm for dear life or end up on the floor. From the way she'd caught him looking at her, Tashigi was getting a sneaking suspicion that that was exactly where Merrick wanted her.

A maid carrying a half-empty hors d'oeuvre tray passed by and gave Tashigi a sympathetic smile.

"We have so many things to see, Miss Tashigi – "

"Sergeant Major," she corrected firmly.

Something crashed behind them. Tashigi looked over her shoulder and saw that the maid was stooped over, cleaning up her spilled tray.

"Clumsy girl. Father may fire herfor that."

"I would hope not," Tashigi said. "What kind of person would fire another for an accident?" Not the Marines, thank goodness, she thought.

Merrick propelled Tashigi down the hallway. "Come along, Sergeant Major. Let the servant handle this."

He began his tour of the mansion again. If everything worked out as planned, it would end in his bedroom. "Now _that_ room contains an assortment of my family's weapons, but what I am sure you will find more interesting is our extensive art collection." The familiar pressure of her entire body balanced on his arm was gone. He looked up and saw that Tashigi was ducking into the weapons room.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed breathlessly as she went inside.

Merrick followed her; curious as to what exactly had provoked such a response.

* * *

Author Notes: Mess' fabulous fic "Stronger" inspired me to get off my butt and get this chapter finished, so make sure to read her story and leave her praise. Thanks for hanging in there everyone. I'm not updating as much as I'd like to either! I really appreciate the reviews and encouragement. 


	8. On the Nature of Children

Chapter 8 – On the Nature of Children: A Contemplative Interlude With Smoker

The recruit trainers at Headquarters could have taught the Fops something; you don't put large windows in a first floor bathroom.

Smoker looked around his secluded corner of the Fop estate and deemed it secure enough to camp out at until the party was over. He would be safe from that Georgialee harpy, whoever she was and on top of that, Headquarters couldn't accuse him of disobeying orders. He was at the cotillion; he just wasn't _in_ the cotillion.

Smoker picked up his jacket from the marble bench and began searching his breast pocket for two more cigars. He wondered if the groomsmen and his private were around somewhere. They were probably in the middle of a poker game, the lucky bastards.

His search yielded a single cigar. There wouldn't be another one until he got back to the ship unless he was willing to return to the mansion and hunt down a servant. He'd have to go back there someday since Tashigi was still inside, so he decided to enjoy it. What else was he going to do out here?

When he looked up, there was a kid was standing in front of him, clutching a blanket and solemnly sucking its thumb. Smoker was impressed. It had snuck up on him.

'It' was at the larval stage of child development where children were easily mistaken for either a girl or a boy unless dressed appropriately as one or the other. Since it wasdark and the child was wearing the ambiguous uniform of yellow pajamas, it was impossible to tell. He hoped that it was a girl. If it was boy, then he was going to spend the majority of his early childhood getting the snot kicked out of him for having hair that long and curly.

The kid was eyeballing him so Smoker eyeballed the kid back. They did this for a few, intensely silent moments.

Smoker broke first. "What are you doing?"

The kid shrugged, making a crab-like hunch with its body since it wouldn't loosen its death grip on its blanket.

"Do you want something?"

The kid solemnly shook its head from side to side, twisting its body to keep its thumb in its mouth.

"Taste good?"

It slowly moved its gaze south of Smoker's nose.

So now brats were health critics? "Just like candy, kid," Smoker said darkly.

The kid looked up at him hopefully.

"I didn't mean… I don't have any."

Hell. It was starting to leak. Why'd he mention candy of all things? Smoker thought fast and used a diversion tactic. The silent tears stopped as it watched smoke pour out and around Smoker's cuffs.

The kid started climbing up on the bench to get a closer look at the clouds that were slowly seeping from Smoker's dress shirt. He didn't help it because he'd seen where kids could get to. When the Marines weren't cleaning pirates out of Loguetown, they had been responding to requests from parents to get kids off roofs, out of bell towers, and down from trees. Sure enough, a few moments later, it was sitting next to him – quite a feat since it hadn't let go of its blanket or taken its thumb out of its mouth.

Smoker stepped the entertainment up a notch and formed the shapeless clouds into a long snaky dragon that was attacked by a hazy knight on a white horse. The thumb sucking and blanket death grip continued, but the kid was entranced, just like Smoker knew it would be.

Kids were easy to deal with once you realized one important fact. Regardless of where they were from or who their parents were, every child was born with a crude, simple morality that boiled down to: "I want it, I want it now, give it to me now, or I will do something horrible."

In other words, kids were pirates.

Most of them hadn't eaten a Devil Fruit or learned how to use bladed weapons (though their teeth were damn sharp) and when they did 'something horrible,' it was only as bad as little Billy having a temper tantrum or hitting Susie in the head with a building block. You could always put them in a playpen if they got out of line. But just because they were small didn't mean they weren't opportunistic hell-raisers who would try to get away with whatever they could, whenever they could.

A kid's pre-set morality was divided eighty percent pirate/twenty percent law-abiding citizen. Society existed so that the cumulative pressure of repeated dressing-downs such as "Learn to share," "Be kind to animals," and "No, you cannot wear your underpants on your head in public" would balance the two sides out. But that method's success rate was crap; there were plenty of pirates sailing around.

Smoker had decided the best way to curb future pirate tendencies would be to let kids get it out of their system when they were young. After all, _he'd_ never had any rules when he was a kid and it hadn't done him any harm - just like it wouldn't kill little Billy if he had a piece of candy between meals or stayed up past his bedtime. Maybe then little Billy wouldn't grow up feeling the need to wreak havoc on the open ocean as William the Butcher, Scourge of East Blue.

If that meant forking out a few berii for ice cream or using his powers for non-Marine business, then that was fine with him. It was his duty to help kids overcome their instinctive pirate-ness. Just like he had.

And if he did his duty exceptionally well, he thought, there would be more Marines in the next generation. Headquarters always needed new recruits. But not recruits that were like Brandnew. Or like that two-ton moron Nelson either. In fact, kids shouldn't grow up to be like any officer he knew.

He didn't include himself in that list. After all, it was obvious that the world would be a much better place if there were more people in it like him.


	9. Not Quite Eleven in the Garden of Moral ...

Chapter 9 – Not Quite Eleven In The Garden of Moral Ambiguity

Chrissiania fumed as the maids poured the tea. "Where did he go?"

The other debutantes made a show of sympathy for the girl, but their hearts weren't into it. Instead of throwing themselves at impossibilities, most of the belles of Runess had successfully ensnared prime husbands from nearby islands. They were too busy enjoying their victories to be brought down by Chrissiania's fury.

Annalinalou considered her catch. He was older and wealthy and she'd been elated that he'd suggested that their parents meet but now that the chase was through and she had her prey, it all felt kind of … flat.

Chrissiania glowered. It was unbecoming, but Annalinalou wasn't going to say so. Instead she asked, "No word from the servants on his whereabouts?"

"Of course not. They're worthless." Chrissiania gripped her teacup so hard that her knuckles whitened and murmured, "I know that the carriage is still in the driveway."

Linathia, daughter of Sir Torrance, raised an eyebrow. "Really, Chrissiania. Why not go after someone else? It's not as if there aren't other bachelors here."

"But none of them leave for months at a time!" she said sharply. Couldn't they see that was the whole _point_? Marines were gone on dangerous sea voyages that could possibly end with their untimely death. If she were lucky, she would be a young, rich widow within the first year!

Annalinalou ventured an opinion. "Have you considered that perhaps the man isn't interested?"

"In me?" Chrissiania asked. Her voice was polite, but had an edge to it.

"No, of course not." Annalinalou thought of something the Marine might not be interested that encompassed her friend. "In marriage! Yes, perhaps he isn't interested in marriage."

Chrissiania's voice lowered dangerously. "I don't care _what_ he's interested in. Whether he likes it or not, that Marine is mine."

* * *

Marines! There was more than one and that changed everything!

She escaped from the watchful eyes of Jeffrey and made for the garden. Her feet and mind raced together.

Who would have thought that the main course for that pack of hyenas would bring back up? Or that the back up would be a woman? It wasn't very fair when Marines went around in dresses. That was almost undercover. Where was that woman's sense of pride? Or her desire to proclaim her personal values on her clothing so in-house thieves would have some warning?

Her partner was not going to like this.

The lights from the mansion did not penetrate the thick bushes of the ornamental maze, but she had memorized the way through it many months ago. In the middle of the labyrinth, she found her partner and his gang, waiting to begin the evening's 'festivities.'

"There are two Marines in there!" she whispered breathlessly.

Mr. 11 was not concerned. "There are three, Miss Thursday," he said. "There's also one in the stable playing cards with the groomsmen. Or didn't you know that?"

She mumbled something conciliatory. Of course she didn't know that. She'd been hanging up coats and then passing out crepes and then helping with the washing up in the kitchens while all they had been doing was skulking in the weeds, which didn't take much talent at all.

She wished she hadn't been paired with such a jerk, but a Baroque Works agent didn't question the Management's decisions. Mr. 0 sounded scary on the phone, Miss All-Sunday just _was_ scary and she wasn't even going to think about that psychotic buzzard and otter combination.

Her partner continued. "Three Marines mean nothing. They are outnumbered and if they are attending this kind of event, they must be very poor Marines indeed. The plan continues."

They were supposed to be partners, she thought sullenly, but he had made it very clear that he was the boss of the operations. Huh. She was one of the best thieves in this part of the Grandline. She could melt into any social situation; be a duchess or a maid or a man even and no one was the wiser. But did he appreciate her abilities? No. Not in the slightest.

She consoled herself with that fact that her ridiculous costume was due to her work and not because she had extremely poor fashion taste.

"Now get back there before someone notices you are missing. Idiot."

She nodded. _I may be an idiot, but your hat is ugly and you smell like my grandfather._

She found her way out of the maze and was about to cross the garden to the patio doors when she was distracted. A bright point of light hovered in the darkness. Fireflies? she wondered.

No, not unless fireflies favored cigars.

Damn. The gardener. She approached the dark silhouette sitting under the willow tree and played with the thin knife concealed in the pocket of her uniform. She would really hate to have to kill one of the staff…but oh well. Eggs and omelets and all that.

She addressed the smoldering end glowing in the night as she stalked forward. "Samuel, you know you're supposed to make yourself scarce during the party! Jeffrey doesn't like the outside staff hanging around where guest can see them. Why aren't you playing cards with the rest of the fellows in the stable?"

Then she saw she was speaking to a guest and not a gardener. "M'lord! So sorry, m'lord, I didn't mean to insinuate that you were one of the help, m'lord. Please forgive my rudeness."

She apologized and curtsied and kowtowed and reflected that if she had to kill one of those powdered jerks, it would be twice as hard to explain but she wouldn't feel half as bad about it. So that worked out mathematically.

The guest waved off her apologies in a cloud of cigar smoke. "I think I found something you lost."

A small figure sat next to the guest on the bench. It was clutching a blanket and sucking its thumb industriously. "Master Clarence! Nanny's been going mad with worry!"

And rightly so. For while bad things happened when Master Clarence was around, much worse things happened when he wasn't. It was best to have the boy where you could see him.

"Clarence, huh?" the guest asked the boy. When Master Clarence nodded, the guest shook his head and said something about a haircut. And boxing lessons?

"Excuse me, m'lord?" She kept her hand on the knife concealed in her maid's uniform.

"Your _what_?"

"M'lord?" She was ready to gut the guest from neck to navel if necessary.

"Never mind. Is it over?"

"Is what over, m'lord?" She doubted that being witness to a grisly murder would scar Master Clarence much if that rumor about what he had been caught doing to the kittens in the barn was true.

"That." He motioned towards the house.

"Not quite, m'lord. I believe it is time for the ladies to have tea and for the gentlemen to retire to Lord Fop's study."

"What do the gentlemen do in Lord Fop's study?" The guest said _gentlemen_ in the same way other people said _cockroach_.

"What they always do, m'lord. Drink brandy and smoke cigars." She was confused. He didn't know that? Was he drunk as well as naturally stupid? She hoped so. It would make her work easier. "I'm sorry that Master Clarence bothered you, m'lord. I'll take him back to Nanny, m'lord."

And then come back to finish you.

She held out her hand though she wasn't quite sure how Master Clarence was going to take it unless he sprouted another arm. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility; an extramarital affair between Lady Fop and Beelzebub seemed highly likely.

"Hang on," the man said. He sat there for a moment, contemplating the stub that was left of his cigar as if it was the answer to one of society's major social ills.

Then he reached for the long white coat hanging on the back of the bench. She almost gasped aloud. Of all the people to come across.

But the Marine couldn't have heard anything or she would have been arrested by now.

"You're coming with me."

Caught! Her lips curled into a sneer. "Not on your – "

"Let's go, kid." Master Clarence slid off the bench obediently. The Marine's attention swung back to her like a searchlight. She tried not to cringe. "Did you say something?"

Be a maid, Thursday. Act maid-y and get away from the Marine. "No, m'lord."

She led the way back and calmed her nerves. She just had to hand the Marine over to the pit bulls inside and wait for the chaos to begin.

It wouldn't be long now.


	10. Anywhere But A Cool Dry Place

Chapter 10 – Anywhere But A Cool Dry Place

Lord Fop had heard of islands on the Grandline left untouched by civilization but he hadn't been aware that Loguetown was founded on one of them.

This 'Smoker' was so far down the social ladder as to be actually in the ground the ladder was resting on. The idea of him becoming grafted onto the illustrious Fop family tree was repugnant. On the other hand, he knew which side his bread was buttered on - the money side. That was the only thing that was more important than breeding.

He did not think it was an accident that the Marine had gone missing. Obviously this man was going to be _difficult_ and not accept the immediate class scaling offered by a marriage into his family. Compared to the previous years' Marines, this one seemed a bit more cunning. Yes, that was the word. Like a fox.

Lord Fop knew what to do with wild animals; hunt them down, stuff them, and mount their heads on a wall. It was only a matter of time before this particular quarry was run to ground.

But first the game had to be flushed out and the hounds were having no luck.

"M'lord, we've looked everywhere." Barring any place with dark shadows. The incident with Jeffrey in the dining room had the servants very reluctant to startle the captain.

"Obviously you haven't looked _every_where because you haven't found him!"

"We'll try – behind you, m'lord."

One of the maids was leading the captain down the hallway. "Captain Smoker, so good of you to join us," Lord Fop lied.

The officer muttered something incomprehensible. The maid curtsied lowly and said, "M'lord, the captain found Master Clarence in the – "

Lord Fop noticed his son. "Yes, yes. Take the boy to Nanny. Perhaps that will stop her hysterics. Captain Smoker, if you would come this way."

Lord Fop ushered the Marine into his study. The cotillion would soon be over and time was running out. But Lord Fop had a secret weapon that _this_ Marine could never have prepared himself for.

"Would you care for a brandy, old chap?" Baron Brightwith asked when they entered.

Smoker wasn't sure about the 'chap' remark so he let it slide. "Cigar," he said shortly. That was the only thing that had brought him back in here – that and the fact that he was running out of ideas to entertain the kid.

"Of course." Lord Fop smiled and gestured to Jeffrey.

The serving man opened two sturdy oak doors revealing an inner room bigger than Smoker's quarters on the ship. The walls were lined with rich oak shelves and all of the shelves contained row after row after row after row of ...

Caves of jewels, islands of gold, bounty that would fill the holds of a thousand fleets. He'd heard the stories of the Pirate King's final treasure growing up as a kid. It hadn't impressed him. But this…

Never had he believed such aplace like this existed.

"I make it a point to have a box of every cigar variety from all four Blues as well as the many islands that are along the Grandline. Only the best, of course. Every cigar must be rolled by hand or really, what's the point in having one?" The aristocrat gazed at his collection proudly. "So, Captain, where would you like to begin?"

Smoker swallowed thickly and tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. "Whatever you recommend."

"Jeffrey, let's start with two Changvar for the captain."

The servant handed Smoker two cigars. Someone took his jacket. Someone else put a glass of brandy in his hand. Then he was led to a circle of comfortable leather chairs where the other lords were already reclining.

The aristocrats were speaking about blooms and binders, credos and cutters, and the dreaded lacioderma. Fop noted that the Marine did not participate in the discussion but followed every word. When there was an appropriate lull, Lord Fop said, "Captain Smoker, I've heard you had urgent business on the Grandline."

He received a look that could only be translated to a rude word. Perhaps that was only as far as communication had evolved in Loguetown, Fop thought dully. He continued with his plan. "I imagine you'll have to be leaving the party shortly to prepare the ship and hoist anchors and what have you. I'll have one of the servants send for your man and get your carriage ready. Jeffrey, you didn't put the captain's coat away yet, did you?"

The captain glared and made a point of making himself more comfortable. "I'm not in a rush."

"Oh. Well." Lord Fop pretended to be annoyed which, if he were any judge of character, would give this man a perverse sense of satisfaction. And it did.

Then Baron Brightwith began discussing tomorrow's hunting party, a topic that Fop had strongly advised come up during this small gathering of gentlemen. It seemed to interest the Marine slightly and why shouldn't it? The subject of conversation was in the man's _name_. After it had been parleyed around for a few minutes, Fop said, "Yes, well, it really is a pity that you won't be able to join us tomorrow."

The aristocrat made certain that the man understood that he did _not_ find it a pity and would in fact be glad to be rid of him.

"It truly is," the baron added. "I've heard that the weather is going to be splendid. A bracing day of hunting followed by an excellent dinner with good company; does life get much better than this?"

The baron's expansive gesture happened to stop on the still open humidor. Fop couldn't have planned it better himself. He ended with the coup-de-grace.

"Are you certain you can't stay one more day, captain?" Lord Fop's reluctant tone made it abundantly clear that one more day with Smoker would be one more day of painful torture.

The aristocrat waited for the Marine's response. His surly expression didn't change as he puffed away.

I let you and your 'companion' through the front door of my home. I ignored the physical assault on my staff. I plied you with the finest champagne and brandy. I fed you a dinner that your thug-like palate cannot possibly appreciate properly. I am giving you my cigars. What more do you want, you horrible man?

Lord Fop was considering a desperate last plan of dressing the servants up like pirates and having them fake an attack on the mansion, when the Marine said, "I'll think about it."

The lord smiled. "Wonderful."

* * *

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed eleven.

Merrick sighed. It had only been that long? Civilizations had risen and fallen during the amount of time he felt like he'd spent in this room. And the woman _still_ didn't seem to be interested in anything but the swords hanging on the wall. His attempts to lure her away with promises of a showing her the 'special family sword' had been met with outright skepticism.

"It's beautiful. An original third generation Sarinyasa! Amazing!"

Kill me now, Merrick thought. He pretended to give her his undivided attention.

"Can I take it off?"

"Certainly," was his automatic response. Then he realized she was talking about swords again. Tashigi pulled the Sarinyasa from its display hook on the wall and admired it up close.

"Do you see craftsmanship on this blade?" He didn't have a choice when she almost jammed the sword up his nose. The trade off was now he had a great view down the front of her dress.

Tashigi looked up from her examination of the sword. "Merrick, do you hear something?"

* * *

A/Ns:

"blooms and binders, credos and cutters, and the dreaded lacioderma" – aka oils on the cigar paper and tobacco leaves, humidification devices and cigar scissors, and tobacco beetle larvae

Humidor – a place for the storage of cigars in a controlled humidity


	11. Tunnel Vision

Chapter 11 – Tunnel Vision

A normal day for a Marine usually included being trapped in hostile waters, fighting tooth and nail against outrageous odds without the hope of help or rescue. The possibility of waking up to that every morning drove most enlisted men and women to the edge of their sanity and had, in many instances, driven them right over it. But there were Headquarters-patented and World Government-approved methods of dealing with mental distress that would delay the paranoia, schizophrenia, and general madness for years at a time.

These included:

1) a strict regimen of physical training

2) liberally dousing everyday speech with ear-scorching profanities

3) healthy meals whenever possible

4) engaging in the enthusiastic destruction of public and private property

5) a daily ration of rum,

6) and if not outright killing pirates then at least a horrible maiming or, barring that, getting a few good kicks in before throwing them in a cell.

For justice, of course.

The fact that Smoker could not do any of those things, while wearing formal dress, had worn on him for the entire evening.

As the Headquarters appointed psychologist would have told him (_had someone not tied him up and left him in the broom closet of the Loguetown barracks when he'd tried reasoning with Smoker about the lunacy of following one measly five-man pirate crew into the Grandline_), in stressful situations, a person will focus on only one aspect of an object or environment while ignoring everything else around them. This is called tunnel vision and it's the curse of misdirected adrenaline.

Lord Fop was mindful of the condition, which is why he had the doors of the humidor kept wide open. He motioned for Jeffrey to bring out another selection of cigars and made his final play to keep the Marine, his future cash bull as it were, on Runess.

"Captain, if you do plan on staying for the hunting party, perhaps we should send word to your driver and have him return to the ship?" Lord Fop's tone made it clear that only his slavish devotion to good manners was behind this suggestion. It was not difficult to fake when he saw that the Marine was swilling his brandy. _Swilling_, for the love of -

"Yeah. He's probably bored."

Lord Fop acted quickly, before the Marine could change his mind. He motioned to Jeffrey and told him to send the man in the stables back to the ship as soon as possible.

"Certainly, m'lord." Jeffrey leaned down and murmured. "But I've just been informed that there's a situation with one of the ladies of the staff. Involving your son, m'lord."

"Clar – "

"The other son, m'lord. And his, ahem, agricultural studies." Jeffrey continued before Lord Fop could interrupt again. "His activities with _oats_, m'lord."

Lord Fop glanced over at the Marine. The quarry appeared to be enjoying himself and really, who could tell with animals anyway? He stood up to with deal agrarian difficulty. "If you will excuse me…"

They did and began speculating about their host's sudden exit as soon as he'd left the room. Smoker could have told them because, contrary to what the officers at Headquarters thought, he had excellent hearing.

Eventually the speculation ended and the aristocrats drifted to another interesting subject; one which Lord Fop would have not wanted them broaching.

The subject was: "What happened to your companion for this evening, Captain?"

Before Smoker could explain that she'd abandoned her commanding officer to dancing, another aristocrat spoke up. "I do believe she was being escorted by Merrick."

The other lords in the room smiled knowingly.

"What's so funny?"

The smiles disappeared. Lord Torrance searched for the right words – ones that wouldn't bring about a repeat performance of what the Marine had done to the servant at dinner. "Merrick is often found _in flagrante delicto_ with young women left in his company for too long."

They watched warily as the captain mulled this over.

"Is that all?" he asked. The aristocrats were pleasantly surprised by the Marine's response, not realizing that Smoker thought Torrance was talking about a type of dancing.

Baron Brightwith, made bold by a few too many brandies, continued. "Your young lady, well, we all know why women join the Marines. A bunch of men in close quarters; that's the allure for them. Isn't that true, Captain?"

Smoker took a swig of his brandy. After a week, a bunch of men in close quarters held as much allure as a pig farm.

"It's scandalous. I can't believe that Headquarters allows women to serve along side at all," Lord Torrance said. "The only thing they serve is as a distraction."

Plague was the word Smoker would have used. Hina had worn out two dendenmushi already by sending him faxes asking him to comment on important memos from Headquarters but they both knew it was just an extension of her favorite amusement, "Pissing Smoker Off."

Hina pretended to like this kind of party. Maybe Torrance and her had met -

"But they're so feeble when compared to men."

Right. Torrance didn't know Hina.

"You know they have to make allowances for them – be given the easy work, shuffling paper and things." Brightwith told the other gentlemen. "They aren't proper Marines at all. We should leave the fighting to the real men. Don't you agree, Captain?"

The baron's question wasn't answered the way he expected. A short affirmative grunt would have been sufficient, but instead the captain blew out a stream of smoke and then asked, "You saying you think you could be a Marine?"

Brightwith laughed. "Well, of course. My family has a long and illustrious military career. Why, my grandfather bought himself a very excellent commission as a rear admiral. "

The Marine removed both his cigars from his mouth and examined them carefully. "Bought his commission?"

"Certainly. It's the only respectable means for men of our station."

If any of Smoker's Marines had been in the room, they would have started looking for exits. "Versus working your way up."

"Working is fine for the dregs from other parts of the ocean but we needn't prove how good we are." The baron motioned for one of the serving men to fill up his glass and continued. "It's not as if we're members of a no-name family from some pirate port!"

The captain smiled, or at least showed his teeth. "Like Loguetown."

"By god, man, exactly!"

Lord Torrance, who knew more of the background of their special guest than the baron, cleared his throat desperately.

But the baron was not up to noticing subtle hints. "And I think that if gentlemen of means were to take control of the Marines, the Grandline – nay, the Grandline and the Four Blues – would be free of piracy forever!"

The other gentlemen nodded, since clapping discretely would have meant putting down their brandy and cigars.

Except Captain Smoker. He neither nodded nor clapped, but instead gave his emphatic opinion on the lords of Runess and their probable effect on the Marines.

He assured them that if gentlemen of means were in charge, there would be an immediate increase of anarchy on the high seas. An honorable profession would go into decline; even though the ranks of Marines were filled with dregs, none of them had been caught raiding their elderly aunts' closets. He added that the seas would turn red with blood before he ever worked with a man like the baron. Red with gentlemen's blood if he had to be specific.

The baron had turned a brilliant shade of purple. "I never!"

Smoker ground the stubs of his cigars in a silver ashtray and stood up. "I bet you haven't."

Baron Brightwith threw his brandy aside and strode forward, glove in hand. "You insolent man! I demand satisfaction!"

No one would disagree that the baron had guts. This was fortunate; they often had to work overtime due to his complete lack of brains. That's why the hand halted in mid-arc and the glove flapped against the baron's wrist instead of connecting with Smoker's face. But the guts, busy stopping the hand, couldn't prevent the mouth from sputtering, "You, sir, are no gentleman!"

Smoker stared at the man for a moment. His gaze slid to the other aristocrats and finally to the open doors of the humidor.

He focused on the baron one more time and said, "No shit."

Then the doors of the study exploded inward, showering the room in splinters and ash.

"Alright, hands in the air, no heroics, and everyone will go home with all the right appendages." The thief was pissed when he walked right into the door, which he thought he'd blown open pretty nicely. Now he'd ruined his threatening speech, which he'd been practicing all week.

He took a wary step back when he realized it wasn't the door he'd run into.

But he was a professional. He gave the guy what he thought was a threatening grimace. "Hey, Lord High and Mighty, get in the corner with the rest of the gentlemen or get a few extra holes instead."

The man said, "Didn't you hear? I'm no gentleman."

And the bandit received a hands-on lesson in tunnel vision.

* * *

Thanks to Mess – whose Marine fangirl email conversations have led to the inevitable conclusion that any action can be warranted if the driving force behind it is justice.

The next chapter – Tashigi demonstrates the finer points of sergeant majoring, the debutantes learn a valuable lesson and Smoker hits bandits repeatedly in the face.


	12. Lady in Red

Chapter 10 – Lady in Red

It was very quiet in the gentlemen's parlor. The lords were gathered around the unconscious body of the bandit and trying to reason out what had occurred.

"Well, that was … " A gentleman searched for the right term. "Interesting."

One of them prodded the bandit with his toe. "Quite a brawl that was."

"Wasn't a brawl. A massacre, eh?"

There was laughter. "Indeed."

"I believe the gentleman had a weapon of some kind. Oh, yes, he did. Here are the pieces."

"Not very sporting at all."

Lord Torrance looked around the circle of men, completely agog. "The man turned into a cloud! And then he – and the fist through his middle – and you act as if nothing had happened! Don't you realize that he's eaten a Devil Fruit and now he's loose in the mansion? Are you all _mad_?"

Baron Brightwith interrupted the lord's hysterics. "Quite a good point, Torrance, and do be careful about sloshing that brandy. Now look here, gentlemen. Are we going to allow some inhuman Loguetowner take our birthright and save us in our own homes?"

There was a pause as they considered this.

"Yes?"

"It is _his_ job, isn't it?"

"No!" The baron ashed on the body as he made his point. "As Lords of Runess, it is our ancestral duty to defend our island! We must take up arms now!"

His proclamation was met with silence.

"Then let me put it this way. Since our host is absent, I, as baron, am calling on you lords – " the _mere_ was implied " – to follow me into the fray!"

More silence.

"After we've finished our brandies, yes?"

"Well, of course."

* * *

Merrick heard the screaming and dove behind a couch.

"We're going to die! Quick, back here!" When a hot, young body was not immediately squished up against him in the tiny space, he peeked out. Tashigi was pitching her shoes across the room with glee.

"Let me help," he said, leaping back into the room. He knew that distressed women were supposed to be easy but this was too good to be true.

She pushed a sword in his hand and picked up the Sarinyasa for herself. "Let's go."

"Out into the hallway? With the screaming? But we're safe in here," he protested, gesturing at the walls of weapons.

"And people out there aren't," she said ardently. "What happened to _noblesse oblige_?"

"Is that in any way like _droit du seigneur_?" he asked, but Tashigi was already out the door and in the smoky hallway. He followed her reluctantly, knowing that she'd get in trouble without him.

They were attacked immediately. Merrick went to his best en guarde position; feet at right angles, hips three-quarters to the front, knees evenly bent, shoulders, head, and neck relaxed, and arms bent to the correct position. Then he noticed he was holding a saber and not a foil.

In the meantime, Tashigi had cut down the bandit.

"You … splashed … my waistcoat…" Merrick said slowly, trying to come to terms with what was all over his front.

Tashigi turned on her heel and gasped. "You should get that under cold water as soon as we're finished or it'll set! But don't worry; I'm sure you can get it out with a little bit of Peerson's soap. Though the Quartermaster swears by Jolly Sailor."

He stared at her, clearly horrified.

"Oh no! It isn't hand-wash? Then if you have take it to a laundress, please send the bill to me. It's the least I can do. Really, Merrick, I'm so - " Tashigi's apology was cut short when two more sword-wielding bandits appeared at the end of the hallway.

"Don't stand too close, or you'll get backsplattered again," she said matter-of-factly.

Working through a slight daze, Merrick experimented with the right distance to walk behind a woman who was cutting her way through her enemies like a Nemesis unleashed.

And he'd tried to seduce _this_?

* * *

"This is complete-OW!"

Lord Fop's maid blew her hair out of her face and tapped her leg impatiently with the pistol she had just bashed across his head. His wig was askew. He just knew it.

"Open the safe, my lord," the man in the very ugly hat said.

Lord Fop was not quite sure what this other person did in his household. He was wearing very strong aftershave and had a sword.

Perhaps he worked with the dogs.

The lord turned to the maid. "Have you no shame, girl! I was going to give you a stipend for you and your progeny to live on!"

The maid snorted; he'd never heard one do that. "I wouldn't let your son touch me with gloves on."

The man prodded him gently, but firmly, in the neck with his pistol. "The safe, my lord."

The maid was rude but the man … the man's hat frightened him. It must have been fifteen years old. Completely out of style. Lord Fop decided it would be best to do what he said.

The maid sighed. "Mr. 11."

"What?"

"Smells like smoke."

"It's our colleagues getting excited. Go calm them down." The man nodded at Lord Fop. "I can handle him by myself."

The maid left reluctantly. And now Lord Fop was the focus of the man's attention. The man's grin was not reassuring. "Continue, my lord."

* * *

The bandits had surrounded the manor and were relieving the guests of their unnecessary items, which the bandits made sure the guests understood included their lives if there were any trouble.

Some bandits were having more fun than others, such as the one leering over the group of debutantes huddled in the corner of the tearoom.

"Who's the first to give up their pretty things?" He reached out to take a cringing girl's diamond necklace.

"Stop!"

The bandit turned around to see a young slip of a girl. He burst out laughing.

"You have one chance to drop your weapon and surrender to me."

This was rich. He held up his sword and stepped forward. "You could cut yourself on that nasty weapon. Now why not be a good lass and – "

The debutantes screamed and Tashigi wiped the blade of the Sarinyasa on her dress. Its color didn't hide just wine stains. "Is everyone alright?"

The shocked debutantes nodded.

"Good. Is there another way out – windows, excellent. Lock the door behind me when I leave. And push something heavy against it too. Then try and get out that way. I think someone set a fire." Tashigi paused. "Or Captain Smoker knows about the bandits. Either way, you should all leave."

Annalinalou hadn't understood much of that. She cleared her throat politely and said, "Excuse me, Miss…erm…Marine, but Chrissiania was taken away somewhere. You will rescue her, won't you?"

"Of course."

There was no reassurance that she would try to find her, that she would do her best, that her friend was probably all right. Clear and true, this girl in her simple dress, carrying a sword like it was a dance card, was going to find her friend and bring her back.

Annalinalou had never been more impressed.

"What does she look like?" Tashigi asked her.

"She's wearing a saffron chiffon with scallop beading at the neckline and – " Tashigi gave her a blank look so Annalinalou began again. "She's wearing a yellow poofy dress with shiny bits sewn on the collar and – "

"She's my sister. She was sitting next to your captain." Merrick bravely stepped into the room when he saw the vanquished bandit and the vulnerable young women in need of comfort. "Thank goodness you're alright, ladies."

Tashigi was good at remembering faces when it was important. It would be hard to miss a reedy girl with an eye tic. "I'll return. Merrick, you can stay here and protect them."

One of the girls giggled in a very malicious way. A few were scowling. They had all been on the receiving end of Merrick's 'protection' at one point in time.

"Maybe I'll come with you," Merrick said. He cleared his throat and straightened up. "My sister is in danger!"

He followed on Tashigi's heels, leaving the debutantes to make sense of a world gone mad.

"She was so forceful," one of the girls said.

"And brave," another added.

Annalinalou nodded. "Not at all like…"

The comparison hung in the air. Not at all like the aristocratic men they had spent their entire evening pursuing. Not at all like any woman they had ever met in their lives.

It was as if they had opened a closet expecting to find silk dresses and heeled shoes and instead had found …

Two bandits chased a screaming maid past the door.

Annalinalou picked up a candlestick. She hefted it in her hand, feeling the weight of it and then looked up into the newly awakened faces of her friends. "Come along, ladies. We have work to do."

* * *

Her hair was absolutely ruined, Chrissiania reflected, as the man dragged her by said hair through the hallway.

Where was that Marine? It was his job to save people! She would have liked to scream but the bandit hadn't liked it when she had. He'd told her to keep her mouth shut or he would shut it for her.

But her dress wasn't making it easy for him; the hoop was smacking him around the legs. She got grim pleasure from knowing he'd probably have bruises all about his shins later.

"Stop right there!"

The bandit swung around to face the challenger and Chrissiania gasped, not out of dramatics but from having someone yank on her hair. "My champi – what are _you_ doing here?"

Tashigi came down the hall with her sword in hand and watched the bandit carefully. "Let her go."

"Don't come any closer. Or I'll …" The bandit got a better grip on the hair in his fist and he waved his sword under the debutante's chin. "Now put down your weapon!"

Chrissiania was at the end of her patience. An evening full of frustrated romantic ambitions was behind her and hours of getting her hair redone were in front of her. She aimed her heel into the dead center of the top of his foot and stamped her foot down – hard. There was a satisfying cracking noise and the bandit screamed.

It turned into a gurgle; that was all Tashigi had needed to make her move.

Chrissiania glared. "You stupid woman! I didn't want _you_ to save me. Where's my hero?"

"Now, sister, you should at least thank her." Merrick stepped gingerly around the corner and over the body of the bandit. This one was number twenty something and he was getting quite used to the foaming, frothing, and final twitch.

His sister ignored him and stomped her foot. "I want the Captain! Not some silly girl playing with – _what_, Merrick?"

Merrick nonchalantly ran his hands through his hair so that Tashigi wouldn't see him making frantic 'cut-it-out' motions.

But Chrissiania's remark had reminded Tashigi that she should be looking for her superior officer. "I'm sure Captain Smoker's here somewhere. Um, sir?"

The siblings watched the sergeant major wave at the haze in the air. "Sir? Are you there?"

Merrick cleared his throat. "Your captain, he has good hearing, does he?"

Tashigi nodded. "That too."

The crack of firearms echoed at one end of the hallway and the siblings screamed. Tashigi knew she was good with the sword but not that good and the closest door was towards the gunfire. "This way!"

They ran back up the hallway, around the corner, and into a crowd of aristocrats. "No, not that way," Tashigi cried, as one of them strode past her. "They have – oh."

So did he. The man brought the butt of his rifle to his shoulder rifle and took aim behind the safety of the corner. "UNSPORTING!" he roared and pulled the trigger.

There was an explosion so loud it rivaled Captain Smoker on a very bad day.

"Ah – ha! Now that's showing them, eh?"

The other lords took their fingers out of their ears and cheered politely.

"First that girl and now my father's friends? Can't I get saved by someone _I_ want?" Chrissiania wailed.

Tashigi peered around the corner. The bandits were gone and there was now a hole the size of a watermelon at the end of the hallway.

"I see you found Father's sea serpent gun," Merrick said to the man, who was readjusting his wig.

"That I did! What a marvel! Can't believe your father's never shot it!" he bellowed.

Another lord muttered. "Because there's a decided lack of sea serpents in the area, thank _goodness_."

Tashigi straightened up and identified herself; just in case they'd forgotten. "Sergeant Major Tashigi of the Marines! I advise all civilians to leave the premises immediately and – "

The man with the rifle stepped forward. "I should think you'll leave the work to us, young woman. This is clearly a job for the men - "

"Baron Brightwith. Shut. Up." Lord Torrance pushed the baron out of the way. If she was like her captain, heavens knew what the girl could do. Or, judging from the bodies they'd stepped over to get here, had already done. "My dear, I'll see to it that we leave."

"Thank you." The sergeant major smiled at him, which meant she probably wouldn't tear his head off with fiendish powers. "Now I have to go."

"Where are you going?" Merrick cried, as she took off down the smoky hall, which was getting worse by the minute.

"To find Captain Smoker!" It wouldn't be too difficult. She would go where the screaming was the loudest.


	13. Thursday's Child Has Far To Go

Chapter 13 – Thursday's Child Has Far To Go

"There! It's open." Lord Fop turned to the man. "May I go now?"

The man peered into the safe. "It appears to be all there. Except … where's the necklace? The topaz necklace and the diamond earrings."

Chrissiania had them. "I don't know."

"Let me assure it will be in your best interest to remember."

Come what may, he would not tell this hooligan anything that might lead to his daughter. "I believe they are out at the jewelers, having the settings repaired."

The bandit cocked the hammer with his thumb. "Sir. Once more. Where are the diamonds?"

"Drop the weapon."

Ah-ha, Lord Fop thought, because he was the kind of man who thought "ah-ha." Inviting the Marine hadn't been a total waste of heavy weight invitation paper.

Then the bandit spun around and emptied his gun into the Marine's chest.

Lord Fop was stunned.

And then Lord Fop was filled with the rage of a man who had just seen his special guest killed in front of him. He grabbed at the closest object he could put his hands on and threw it. A priceless Varnan vase with crackled glaze in blue and white (c. 1180 – 1210) exploded on the bandit's forehead.

"Nice," said the Captain.

Lord Fop looked up. He could see right through the Marine.

His head spun and he swallowed thickly. "Should I call a doctor?"

"I don't think you hit him that hard." The Marine became significantly more substantial, leaned over, and picked the man up by the back of his jacket. "Let's go."

Lord Fop followed his guest, warm in the wonderful feeling known as total shock and keeping an eye out for more smashable family heirlooms.

* * *

Important lessons were learned on Runess.

For example, Mr. 11 had learned that he wasn't half as smart as he thought he was. And the debutantes learned that candlesticks make a satisfying thud on the back of a man's head. Smoker learned that aristocrats weren't the completely useless pieces of meat he'd thought them to be and the aristocrats learned you didn't have to have a traceable lineage to be lethal.

But out of the evening it was Mr. 11's hired hands who learned the most.

They learned that men in hose and wigs had earned their right to wear them.

They learned that what sheltered young women lack in weapons training they make up for in unrestrained vicious enthusiasm.

They learned that not all young women were sheltered; some were Marines who did have weapons training which, combined with the aforementioned unrestrained vicious enthusiasm, was quite inconvenient.

They learned that you cannot punch, cut, slice, pummel or bludgeon smoke.

They learned, in short, that they were not paid enough for this sort of grief.

And one bandit learned a special lesson.

He'd had an unremarkable life filled with bullying and petty larceny activities until a scout had approached him and offered him a place in a secret organization and an opportunity to build a Utopia. He hadn't needed any incentive other than the steady pay and the opportunity to inflict pain.

And that evening this man learned that you should not do a run up behind a Marine who is carrying the body of your boss and try to kick him in the Jack and Jim because your foot will go straight through him. This will cause you to land on your back. And you will end up staring into the face of a Devil who feels the need to give you a few moments of his very intense and thorough attention – moments that stretch out fire hot into eternities.

And then someone will smash a pot on your forehead.

* * *

Miss Thursday didn't learn anything new. She was already aware that no one pays much attention to maids carrying large sacks if everything around her is on fire.

She fished in her cleavage for the ring of copied keys she had collected during her employment period, quite certain that tonight would be the last night to use them.

She opened the door to the dining room. Silver wasn't quite as good as gold, but it could be melted down just as easily.

Miss Thursday began filling her bag. She spun around when the door slammed shut behind her.

Jeffrey stalked forward. He pointed at the sack that was filled with platters and silverware. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What's it look like?"

"Are you stealing?" he asked suspiciously.

She sneered. "You going to stop me?"

"Certainly not."

Jeffrey had had a Trying Evening. He had been bashed into the table, been the scapegoat for an insane Marine, been browbeaten by a child wearing too much make-up, been trampled by frantic aristocrats, been mistakenly bludgeoned by a candlestick wielding debutante, and worst of all, he'd had to watch an entire month's worth of preparations go up in smoke.

The lesson Jeffrey had learned? Nothing was worth this; generations of service be damned. He palmed a plated serving spoon.

Miss Thursday goggled at the dignified butler as he helped himself to the silver. Then she shut her open mouth and threw everything into the sack that she could get her hands on.

"What's your name?" he asked, as if they were at a social gathering and not blatantly stealing from their employer.

"Thursday," she said quickly.

Jeffrey took the candlesticks off the mantelpiece. "What do you plan to do after this, Miss Thursday?"

"It's just Thursday." The sack was full to bursting and she was ready to go. She hefted it over her shoulder. "I don't know about you, but I plan to run like mad."

"Would it be inconvenient if I joined you?"

She heard screams and curses somewhere outside. "Certainly not."

Jeffrey held the glass patio door open for her. She curtsied and stepped through. They walked boldly into the dark and smoky garden and never looked back.


	14. Mopping Up

Chapter 14 – Mopping Up

The high ceilings were catching the smoke, but the atmosphere was getting worse. Lord Fop covered his mouth with his handkerchief and coughed. "Captain, do you believe you can do something about this?"

Smoker didn't answer because a group of bandits were barreling down the hallway – followed by some men with barn equipment. Being beaten with their own boss's body and a heavy barrage of expensive porcelain had them throwing down their weapons and begging for mercy.

In the Marine handbook, unconsciousness was a type of mercy.

"Private Yand, reporting, sir!" The Marine private who'd driven their coach to the estate brought his pitchfork to his side like a musket and saluted. "The bandits escaping the fire are being routed and reinforcements are on the way as per your message, sir!"

Smoker knew when to substitute a dry tone for a confused one. "Message."

"Yes, sir. I knew something was amiss when you sent that coded message about how you _didn't_ want to go to back to the ship. I immediately sent one of the other coachmen back for reinforcements and prepared the servants for a skirmish. A platoon from the ship should be on its way!"

Smoker realized that's what he _would_ have done, had cigars not been distracting him. "Good initiative, private. Though I don't think they'll have much to do once they'll get there."

"Sir, I heard the screaming and came right – ack!" Tashigi fell out of the curling smoke.

"Where the hell have you been?" Smoker snapped, glad that his underling was here to be yelled at. "And you're not wearing any shoes!"

Tashigi picked herself off the floor. "Sorry, sir. Lost them while fighting bandits, sir. Civilians are exiting the building and I've organized the servants into a bucket chain from the ornamental fishpond out back, sir. The situation is under control."

A bandit tore down the far end of the hall, screaming and on fire. A group of debutantes quickly followed, taking turns beating him about the head and body with assorted fine silver.

"Under control?" Smoker growled.

"I'll get right on it, sir, and what should I do with any prisoners – oh, what's this?" Tashigi's attention was drawn to the sword attached to the hip of Smoker's captive. "Captain Smoker! I do believe it's a –"

"Tashigi! Focus!"

She wrenched her eyes away from the sword. "Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!"

Slowly but surely the civilians were accounted for and ushered away from the burning building and the bandits were rounded up. Those that had fled into the garden maze scrambled their way back out because it, like the mansion, had been set on fire. The bandits swore that arson wasn't part of the plan, but who would believe the bandits anyway, Baron Brightworth rumbled, and so their protests of semi-innocence were ignored.

The East Wing's collapse heralded the platoon's arrival. Smoker had been right; there wasn't much for them to do.

They weren't too disappointed. There were plenty of young women asking them about the best way to hold a sword.


End file.
